People ask why and I don't have a concrete answer. But I suspect it has something to do with childhood. For me, meatloaf symbolized something I didn't have as a kid. Namely, what I considered normal American dinners. I mean, because Kimmie Gibler? I didn't see her eating burritos on Full House.

Growing up, I dreamt of pot roast, rotisserie chicken, and rack of lamb. Because, really, I'm sure the Cleavers ate rack of lamb on a weekly basis. My family–on the other (darker) hand–ate anything of the bean and tortilla variation. When I wanted something different, my dad would simply pass me a different salsa and insist it changed the entire meal.

Once I begged my mom to make an American dinner, so she brought out a dusty Betty Crocker cookbook and made dumplings. It was like a stew you poured over white rice. I was intrigued and thrilled that my family was finally acting like the families I watched on TV. It was going well until–I kid you not–my dad asked my mom for salsa. I bet Cliff Huxtable doesn't eat salsa with his dumplings, I muttered under my breath.

When JD and I got married, I was excited to make dinners that didn't require refried beans. That is until I actually had to make dinner. I was flustered, but undeterred. I made meatloaf for the first time (yes, even though I'm a vegetarian) because it just seemed like a cool dinner to make. Yeah, I made meatloaf last night…and I darned some socks by the fire, too! And then I was all, EWWWW. Meatloaf requires ketchup. For the record, ketchup is a condiment…not an ingredient.

Needless to say, my adventures in meatloaf making were unsuccessful. But I'm sure if you were to ask my dad, he'd insist salsa would've made things a whole lot better.